The Story Of Herakles
by InterWhite
Summary: Herakles has come to the kingdom of Mycenae to atone for the sin that Hera has made him commit. How will this affect the residents of Mycenae, particuarly Amara and her sister Alexis? Will Herakles be successful?
1. Chapter 1

"Amara!" I heard my sister call for me, her voice ringing through the house. "Hurry! He is coming!"

These words, so joyous sounding, as though a husband in warfare who has been long absent is coming home, did not strike joy into my heart. Rather, when I looked into the eyes of my mother, whom was spinning, the thread running through her aged hands, I saw fear and anxiety there. She was afraid of the unknown. For the unknown was coming – had come – to Mycenae, and she believed that we would all suffer because of it.

"Amara!" My sister came into the room, her hair all out of place, her clothing crumpled. Mother shook her head, but said nothing. She knew the ways of my sister, Alexis. She was wild and unruly, and could not be curbed. Even sitting down quietly, her hair seemed to naturally upspring from it's fastening, her chiton become misplaced. Now, she held some wild energy that seemed to glow in an invisible halo al around her, and I could not deny it; it caught me up and seemed to give me access to the same source of burning fuel that Alexis always had within her.

"What is it?" Of course, I knew very well what; as I stood up, and placed my own spinning on my stool, my mind was already full of pictures.

"Why do you question? You know that Herakles is coming to Mycenae today! Remember the stories we heard about him Amara? Surely you must be curious to see a man like that?" She probed me, above my ribs. It left an aching sore spot.

"I hope you have not been gossiping," mother reproached. "That is a slave's job, not yours."

Alexis, whom had been grasping my hands and attempted to drag me to the door, stopped a moment. "Of course not, mother," she replied, more respectful to mother than she ever was to me, "But I simply thought that if we went to the door we could see him pass through the town. He is bound to pass through this way – it's te main street."

My mother seemed to eye us both. "You may, but heed my words," she cautioned, "This Herakles is no good. The king fears his coming, and so do I. don't think I hear nothing of your prattling Alexis; he's an evil man, and evil men never change their ways, no matter how repentant they feel."

With that she went back to her spinning. It was clear that she would say no more about it, and that this would be the end. But although I said nothing, and curiosity made me follow Alexis to the door, I shared her worry.

Around us, other people stood at their doors, looking down the street. Little children were in the street, wishing for the arrival of a hero; street urchins talked and murmured among themselves. Our slaves gathered with us. All were united in the excitement and the anticipation of the arrival of Herakles.


	2. Chapter 2

Although he was held to be a hero, he also had a dark past. Nothing stays a secret for long in these parts. All nights previous, Alexis whispered to me in the dark in the room we shared, murmuring, "They say that Hera has a vendetta against him, because he is the son of Zeus. She tried to kill him when he was but a babe, with two snakes, but he crushed them in his cradle. And lately she sent him into in a inhuman rage, and of course, with his great strength, they couldn't stop him. He killed his babies, his little boys, and he was so beset with woe, he was going to kill himself. But the great Oracle, of Apollo, told him he must come to Mycenae and offer his services to our king. This will be his atonement."

And so he was coming. But what did this mean? Was the man really half mortal, half God? Was he to be an asset of Mycenae, or a hindrance? Could he be trusted at all – many had heard of his crime, and condemned him for it, or, like my mother, feared him. I was uncertain – for mortals cannot disrupt the will of the Gods, but it was a hideous thing to have done, something that I instinctively shied away from. It made to cringe to think of it at all. Alexis, on the other hand, welcomed him with open arms.

"We must be open," she told me now, as we stood waiting. "He is a mortal, like any other, but he is also a God – think of what he will do for Mycenae! Everybody focuses on the fact that he killed his little boys – do they pay attention to the fact that he had no choice? Hera made him commit the crime, it was not of his own violation!"

"Alexis!" Sometimes, despite the fact she was my sister, I was scared and angered by her talk. "It is a wonder that the Gods don't strike you down where you speak sometimes."

"They haven't yet." She smiled at me confidently. "We also never mention that he saved Thebes from their enemies, a marvellous feat. He will be a wonderful soldier, a hero. You'll see."

And then we did see – for here he was. At first, a young man, fair and spritely, used, it seemed, to a fight himself. He led a horse, which looked tired and worn, but a good animal, although I was not fully qualified to judge. Alexis murmured to Rastus, one of our male slaves, for a few moments, then turned back to me. "The one at the front is Herakles' nephew, Iolaus, and on the horse is Herakles' wife, Megara, daughter of the king of Crete," she stated.

The woman looked tired, and although I thought she wasn't old, she seemed as though she had suddenly aged in a short amount of time. I assumed this was due to the loss of her sons, and I felt pity for her, sorrow and pain in my chest. Suddenly, I was aware of a hand on my shoulder. Mother was next to me; curiosity had got the better of her after all.

"That woman has known evils that she should have never have had to know," she sighed quietly.

They passed us, along with a household retinue of slaves, carrying various items – cooking items, clothing, spinning equipment not unlike our own, even livestock. They all passed by in a flurry of disorder and colour, and as they did so, I could feel Alexis grow more restless and the anticipation grow, even in my own stomach, to see the hero Herakles.

And suddenly, there he was. At the back of the train, with no armour, no weapons upon him. He was strong; his muscles were developed and large, and it was clear that this man was not wholly of earthly origin. One crush of his hands, and a baby would be dead. Feeling slightly sick, I put the thought to the back of my mind. His hair was brown, his skin tanned, like many Greeks; but it was clear that he had not bothered with grooming or personal maintenance in many months. He had a beard which was straggly and unkempt; his hair was wild. He walked, not like a hero, but bent, as though he had injured his back – like an old man. He did not lift his eyes. There was silence from the crowd, whereas before there had been noise, interest, excited talking and murmuring.

This was no hero. This was a man broken. My heart ached to see it; even my mother looked surprised. He seemed to have no motivation, no purpose, except to simply move forward. There was nothing in him which suggested he was looking for redemption. He seemed to have accepted that his fate was to live with Hades for evermore; in fact, his very being seemed to beg for it. Every moment, every living second seemed to be a second too long – he was clearly somewhere else. Where, I did not know, but it was not here.

Suddenly, he looked upwards. His eyes were empty. His body was a ghost. There was nothing there. I couldn't look anymore. I turned away, back into the house, where it was cool, and homely, where I could forget everything that I had seen, for never is there anything more horrid that a man who wishes for death. I picked up my spinning and continued, fervently wishing his face would disappear from my mind.


	3. Chapter 3

For the rest of the afternoon, we did not talk of Herakles' coming. The expression on his face haunted me – it was unlike anything I had ever seen. Alexis, who always felt things keenly, was a bundle of different emotions – confusion, interest, reflection, pain and sympathy. However, I could only read them on her face; much as she wanted to tell me her musings, she knew that the only place we could talk freely was later, without mother.

And so we wandered to the courtyard, where Eirene and her mother were cooking fish. It was good weather; the fish smelled appetising to my stomach. I sat down on a bench, nodding to both the slaves, whereas Alexis greeted Eirene as though there were no class distinctions between them whatsoever. In our own home it was easier for this behaviour to happen, and I did not rebuke her for it; also, Eirene had been born at the same time as her, and they had grown up together, so the behaviour was more natural. Outside of the house it was another matter, but tonight I wanted to hear the gossip of the slaves, and so I turned a blind eye to it.

Eirene's mother, Hagne, watched us quietly, but was not so warm as her daughter. Although she accepted that her job was to serve us, that she was our property, and her home was Greece – she had renounced her old name, and had served our household for many years – she missed and still loved her homeland with a passion. She had never fully learnt Greek (although she understood it clearly) and refused to speak anything but her home language. I didn't know what country she came from – somewhere within the Greek empire – but she adored it. Sometimes she dscribed it to Eirene and Eirene translated, telling us of rolling hills and beautiful streams. However, she knew her situation was lucky – she had been allowed to keep her husband, her situation was a pleasant one unlike many Greek slaves, and her relationship with my mother was one of understanding and mutual respect.

We went to the slaves for gossip about Herakles, because they would know the most. Our outings out of the house were limited – out to visit other households, religious observances and such like. The slaves had to go to market and fetch water, so one of them would exchange words with another person outside the family at least once a day. Today Eirene was bursting with news, and as soon as she had greeted us both, she began to talk to both us and her mother.

"I was talking to Kletos – that old codger, he was trying to charge me twice as much as that piece of fish is worth – and I got some good nuggets out of him! I was saying to him, 'Kletos, did you see the hero, entering Mycenae? Some hero, he looked!' He said, 'Well, how did you expect him to look after killing his babies? Triumphant? Glorified?' I admitted, he had a point, because that's a terbile thing to happen to any man, because even though one can't alter the ways of the Gods, it is quite hard luck to have them decide to cause that to be your fate. Cruel, almost." She paused as she placed the fish in a pot over the fire, her mother assisting her.

"He must be heroic," Alexis ventured, "If he is here to atone for his wrong doings. He looked worn down. He looked like a pot that has a piece missing."

"That's what Kletos said, and he offered proof of it to. You know that today is the day he brings the fish up to the palace for the King's servant's to prepare? He found out what happened to Herakles, in his audience with the King. He told me, 'Hereakles stood in front of the king, and bowed down before him, all humble, like he was begging for forgiveness from Zeus himself. He said that he had done things, terrible things, that he had no wish to speak of, but that the king may had heard of. He claimed that in order to smooth his conscience, and in order to stop the burning agony of his soul, which he claimed tortured him day and night, he had to do something good and pure – anything which would help others and atone for his wrongs.'" Eirene paused for effect, seeing that we were all listening, picturing the giant of a man bowed down in front of King Eurystheus – a good man, a fair king, but past his prime. Her voice softer, she continued, "Kletos said that Herakles stated that he placed himself in the hands of King Eurystheus, to do with whatever he saw fit, in order to help his kingdom. This was what the Gods had told him to do, and therefore he was obeying their commands. And then," her voice suddenly became a wisp, as she took a breath of air, "He looked our King in the face, and told him he would rather be dead in order to atone for his sins. And the look on his face was absolute and true. He looked like he wished that the king would kill him there and then."

I recalled Herakles' expression – desperate for death – and shivered. Alexis, I could tell, was there in the room, seeing all, hearing everything, the desperate plea in Herakles' voice, the awe of the king, the astonishment of the servants. Eirene was silent, stirring the fish in the pot. I broke the silence, leaning forward.

"Did Kletos see this?"

"No, a man who serves the wine. But he swore that it was true, every word." Eirene glanced at me. "He said that the King gave him an awesome task, to help our kingdom, and to offload his sins. He is to attempt to kill the Nemean lion."

"What?!" Alexis stumbled out of her reverie, awake and alert. "But that's impossible! He will die!"

Hagne murmured something in her own tongue. Eirene glanced sharply at her, and did not translate. Intrigued, I questioned her. "Hagne? What is it?"

Hagne looked at me, and then nodded at Eirene, giving her permission to translate. Eirene sighed. "This is what Herakles wants. To die." Astonished at the truth of it, I looked at Alexis, who looked back at me, a reflection of my own expression. Was this what the Gods intended? For a man, in agony, to labour in good, but simply to die, his crime was so great? What kind of man could defeat a creature whose skin was like rock, that couldn't be penetrated by arrows or spears? It was a supernatural creature; it was something that had terrorised those around it for years, but nobody could get near enough it to destroy it. As I looked up at the darkening sky, I feared that Herakles had got his wish.


	4. Chapter 4

That night, in bed, Alexis turned to me. She had tried to draw me into conversation more than once, but the talk in the kitchen had set me thinking, and whilst she seemed to have made up her mind and wanted to share opinions, I was far from resolved. In bed, in the room we both shared, she had one last try.

"What do you think Herakles wants, Amena? You're good at understanding what people think," she attempted to persuade me into talking. However, I refused to be drawn. "I don't know what he wants," I replied flatly, and turned away to the opposite side, knowing she wouldn't be hurt. It was simply our way of showing that we wanted to sleep.

But the truth was, I didn't know what I thought – so how could I know what he thought? Did he want redemption? Was he looking for salvation, to be worthy in the God's eyes? Was he a glory seeker? Mycenae saw many of those come and go; none lasted very long, and even if they were successful, eventually another took their place for a short time. Did he simply, as Hagne suggested, seek death – a foolish and painful death, when surely he was needed here, with his wife and the family that he had left? I couldn't comprehend any of it. I saw a broken and pained man – and thought he should be seeking help from someone close, not to break himself further.

We did not hear news of Herakles for a couple of days, apart from that he was camped outside the city walls, due to the interest in him and his mission (which of course had spread and was known by everyone). Despite my initial intrigue, I couldn't help feeling that now the man was bad news. Therefore, I kept my distance, and this turned out to be easy enough. Mother felt that Herakles, in taking such a desperate mission, had shown himself to be mad and dangerous, and forbade the entire household to have anything to do with any of his household or even to talk of him.

"It may be simply grief," she allowed, "And I accept that therefore this desperate action may not be his fault. But he may still be dangerous. A man cursed by the Gods is not one that a person chooses to associate with. They bring bad luck." And that was her final word on the matter. The servants, if they discussed Herakles, did so outside the house, and I obeyed her command. It brought me a relative measure of peace of mind. For some reason Herakles seemed to occupy my thoughts and to push through them when I did not bury him at the bottom. Without new news of him, it made it harder for him to do so.

But of course, we had both forgotten Alexis.

"This is hopeless!" She whispered to me about a week after Herakles had arrived. "At this rate, if Herakles fights the Nemean lion tomorrow and wins, we shall never know!"

"What makes you think he will win?" I asked, sighing. "It's impossible. We know that. Besides, I don't want to talk about it."

"When did you become so goody-two-shoes?" Alexis moaned. She was weaving, the large loom in front of her strung with threads, but she was hardly paying attention, and they were tangling together. I stopped her, before anymore damage was done. Impatient, she got up off the stool she was sitting upon, and angrily collected the threads out of the loom, pulling them out, the ripping sounds seeming to satisfy her somehow. I attempted to prevent her, anxious what mother would say, but she was frustrated, and the tearing of the cloth seemed to give her a way to vent her anger.

"I hate this! Why do even ask me to weave? I always get it wrong. I should be somewhere else, with the horses or the animals." With the pieces of torn cloth in her hands, her voice trmebling with anger and annoyance, her hair as always unkempt, she looked like a wild cave woman. I was suddenly aware of her unusual height.

"It wasn't bad." I attempted to placate, to calm. "You shoudn't have torn it, it could have been saved." When she didn't respond, I continued, " I know you find it hard. But you're good at other things, like painting vases. Your writing is some of the best I've seen. Your cooking is good. Spinning, weaving…it just takes practice. And patience."

"I hate being patient!" Alexis flung the clothes down, and turned away. I let her calm herself, taking breaths. I felt useless. Alexis, it was true, was not gifted or even simply passable at womanly things. Cooking, she could do, but that was a slave's job. Painting vases would not help her find a husband. Her true skill was working with animals, but she only used this because our father had died, and she was good friends with the slaves within our household. All womanly duties seemed to bore her. Children she detested. At times, although I didn't like to admit it, I feared for my sister.

Alexis turned back to me, her expression one of apology. "Listen – I'm sorry." Her eyes were large, persuasive. "But I had an idea. To brighten up the day." A hint of a smile began to play around her lips. I felt butterflies in my stomach.

"Listen – if you're planning – "

"Oh come on!" She smiled broadly. "It'll be fun. We know nothing about Herakles, what he's been up to. We can't find out anything from anybody else…so we'll find out for ourselves! We'll sneak out, in disguise! What do you think?!"

For a moment, I couldn't speak. The notion of dressing up and walking the streets of Mycenae where we could be uncovered at any moment was dangerous, scary…I was frightened. "Do you know how many risks there are with that plan?" I spluttered, trying to get a grip upon my feelings.

"Come on Amena!" Alexis smiled, taking my hand. "Don't you want to live a little bit?"

To live…I looked at her, puzzled. Did I? Did I want to experience 'life' as a free being? Because, although I saw myself as free, I knew Alexis saw herself as a bird in a cage, trapped by the demands and duties of a woman. Should I rebel against such an idea?

And suddenly the image of Herakles pushed itself to the forefront of mind...and an overwhelming curiosity came over me. I hadn't ever felt anything like it, and I knew, in that moment, that I would surrender.

"Alright – but we must be careful!" I protested, as she squealed happily and squeezed me tightly. And so our plan was set in motion.


End file.
